


Maps

by pterodactyldrops



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, F/F, F/M, M/M, Near Death, Other, Second person POV, kiss meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4834586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterodactyldrops/pseuds/pterodactyldrops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scout Harding is not supposed to be here.</p><p>Every map you’ve received from her has these little notes, telling you where to step, where to avoid, because when you leave camp Harding never follows.</p><p> </p><p>Prompt: Returned from dead kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maps

Scout Harding is not supposed to be here.

You carry a dozen maps from the scout in your pack. They’re all littered with her scratches and scrawls.  Her handwriting is awful—it always looks as though she’s penned the words on the side an old oak tree or the back of a boulder. You’ve never been able to read her scribbles. But Harding dots paths for you that no one other than her has walked in over a century, she circles monuments that have caught her eye, and she always puts a star on the camp where she’ll be waiting for you—for the  _Inquisition_.

Every map you’ve received from her has these little notes, telling you where to step, where to avoid, because when you leave camp Harding  _never_  follows.

Your knees hurt where they connect with the ground. Dorian’s flinging spells, Bull’s got half a dozen enemies hanging off of him, Sera’s literally covered in fire, but you’ve left them behind. You’ve run halfway across the battlefield like a fool. You should care. But you don’t.

Harding looks small. She looks so tiny, all crumpled on the ground, mud and blood mixing on her skin. You’ve never thought of her as fragile before, but she looks it when she doesn’t move. She’s always been a bundle of energy—shuffling her feet against soft ground, fiddling with the string of her bow, tilting her head this way and that when she speaks.

She’s never still like this. Never.

You grab her. You think  _gentle gentle gentle_. You’re anything but. Your hands are too strong, too rough when you haul her close. You search her face endlessly. Is this blood hers? Why aren’t her eyes open? Where is she hurt? You loom over her, shelter her, cradle her against you with your whole body.

Your tongue feels thick in your mouth. Your throat is tight. You should say something. You should whisper something or murmur something or do anything other than hold her.

But you’re not sure what to say. Words are difficult when she’s not teasing you, when she doesn’t have that half grin on her face, when she’s just laying in your arms.

“Harding,” you choke. “Harding, you’re not supposed to—”

Her eyes open a fraction. A sliver of green flashes. Her eyes are  _open_. She’s not—she’s hurt, but she’s not—she isn’t—

You crash your mouth into hers.

You think after all the time you’ve spent staring at her face, watching the sun bounce off of her in the Hissing Wastes, or the moon reflect against her in Fallow Mire, you would know more about her lips. You’ve memorized how they quirk, how one side tips up higher than the other when she smiles, but you’ve never  _felt_  them.

You thought they’d be dried and chapped like your own. But they’re not. They’re soft and tender and they move easily against yours.

“Mm rrrrnff nnn—”

You break the kiss and stare at her. She stares back. Her green eyes are wide and for a second your heart thuds hard. What did you do? What did you  _do_? But there’s a familiar crease at the edge of her eyes, and you realize that she is smiling at you. That lopsided, half grin that makes your stomach twist in ways that are both painful and pleasurable.

“What was that?” you ask.

“Is that how you welcome  _all_  of your scouts, Inquisitor?”

“No.” You realize you’re still holding her. You decide you don’t want to let her go. “Only those foolish enough to follow me.”

“Maps are all right.” Her grin gets wider. She smiles with her whole face now. “But nothing beats a guide.”


End file.
